


on the edge (of the world i know)

by fadeoutin (orphan_account)



Category: Bastion
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fadeoutin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the Kid's seen many worlds since the Bastion up and left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the edge (of the world i know)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drakonlily (VincentValentine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentValentine/gifts).



The Kid shifts, hovering in that space between sleeping and waking. The Bastion hums softly, otherworldly, and he feels the vibration right through his bones. He wonders if The Bastion is alive now—that maybe it was built up in such a way it formed a mind of his own, and these shudders and grunts and whispers are its thoughts.

He wonders if the Bastion ever dreams. And if it does, he wonders what its dreams are made of.

His own are blurred as if moving too fast, though he feels sluggish in the haze of white smoke that always surrounds him. The scent of cinders is thick in the air, stinging his lungs when he breathes in deep. He catches glimpses of his past sometimes, there and then gone like ripples in a pool of deep water. There are times when he thinks he sees his mother, though he finds he cannot truly recognize her anymore. In his dreams, the colors are bright, almost blinding. They burn images behind his eyelids that remain, even when he wakes.

He does not remember much of his dreams, and the images make no sense to him.

There are two suns here. One a pale shade of pinkish orange, shaped like an anklegator egg, and the other a perfect sphere of hot, bright yellow. No one ever knows which sun will rise, but he turns his head, sees a faint yellow glow from behind the jagged mountains, and knows the weather will be calm today.

He sits up from his bedroll, hands gently digging into the soft grass around him; takes a deep breath and lets his eyes drift shut. The Bastion is quiet today—calm in a way he has not felt before. His gaze flits to Zia, curled up on her side, a small smile tugging up the corners of her lips; Rucks, sprawled out and unselfconscious, snoring like rocks against rocks upon the Rippling Walls; and Zulf, his face open and relaxed as only in sleep, looking much younger than his years. The little squirt that never leaves Zulf’s side is nestled in his hair, tittering softly in its sleep, and the warmth that spreads through the Kid’s chest wards away the slight morning chill.

The Kid stretches out with a yawn, shaking out the last vestiges of sleep from his limbs, and slips out from his bedroll. He peers over the Bastion’s edge and catches a glimpse of lush green. They don’t seem to be moving right now, the Bastion content on hovering some great distance above the large body of flat, unmoving land. He grabs his bow, absentmindedly plucks the stiff new string Zulf had been working on the previous evening, and then he’s flying into the air, feeling the rush of the wind and the hammering of his heart and the deep sense of belonging that never gets old.

-

The thick carpet of grass muffles his footfalls as he creeps closer, moving in a curve around the small clearing. These beasts are different from the ones he’d hunted the other day, dark blue where those were the color of wheat. The Kid thumbs his bow, absentmindedly sends a thought of thanks to the Breaker who’d owned it before him. It’s a good bow—none better. He’d caught three birds with a single arrow in that crystal valley three worlds ago, where even Zulf had stepped out of the Forge to marvel at how the light hit the glassy shards and scattered brilliant colors in every direction.

The Bastion had let them stay there for longer than usual, though the Kid felt the shudder-shift of restlessness when he’d laid his head to rest each one of those nights. The Kid can’t really explain why the Bastion did that, but the sight of Zia’s smile and the childlike twinkle in Zulf’s eyes might’ve been part of the reason, and the thought makes him grin.

He leans his back alongside the smooth bark of a tree and sights his bow on a mid-sized beast. He’d learned his lesson the first time. Any bigger and the leftover meat would spoil.

The Kid takes a deep breath and narrows his eyes. His vision sharpens, fingers steady on the string. He lets the arrow fly with an exhale, watches as it cuts to the air and lands true. The beasts bray as one of their number falls, wailing even as they scatter into the woods. The Kid stays still, a stone in the middle of a river, and waits until the last jostled leaf flutters to the ground. Only then does he uncurl himself from the tree, hooking his bow in the leather holster Zia made for him. He slices the beast open, working quickly to rid it of the excess weight. He spares the gut, though, mindful of their needs. It makes good string to patch clothes and, if the need arises, to sew up deep wounds. He pauses when he reaches the horns, cleaves them clean off and almost tosses them aside until he remembers Zulf tinkering away in the Forge. He picks them up instead, gently wraps them in cloth and stashes them in his sack for safekeeping.

The beast is heavy for its size, and the Kid grunts a little when he lifts it up over his shoulders. It’s nothing he cannot handle. He’d never been scrawny, but he has grown enough that Zia had to stitch him some new clothes a few worlds back. His new leathers hang loose on his frame, belted close by braided thongs Zulf had silently handed over to him one night over the campfire. Zulf hasn’t spoken to him since the Kid had brought them both back from the Tazal Terminals, bodies broken and bleeding. The Kid remembers Zia’s tears, remembers the trembling in Rucks’ hands, the fear in the old man’s eyes before the darkness overtook him. He still sees the flicker of shadows across Rucks’ face every now and then, but the times are fewer and far between.

He’d vowed that day to never let it happen again, and he’s been making good on that promise every day since.

The woods give way to fields of grass bathed in the warm glow of nearing dusk, and the Kid looks up to the Bastion floating high above. He rolls his shoulders, easing the strain, and closes his eyes to the rush of wind that surrounds him.

-

The sky is dark when he returns to The Bastion. He lands nimbly on his feet, shifting to balance his catch over his shoulders. Zia is there immediately, fussing over the scratches on his face and the blood smeared on his clothes. He quiets her in an instant with a kiss on her lips that says _I’m home_. She flushes prettily, even after all this time, and ducks her head.

_Welcome home_ , she replies, combing dirty hair away from his face and kissing him back.

He lets her help him carry the animal to the cooking pot, listening fondly as she marvels over its deep blue pelt. He offers to skin it for her. She makes a face, laughing, and says, _as long as I’m not there to see it_.

Zulf peeks out from behind the Forge door. His face is dusted with soot and grease; his coal-black hair a wild thing twisted atop his head. The Kid smiles bright, lifts his hand in a small wave, but Zulf’s eyes remain dark and cautious. The Kid’s face falls slightly when Zulf disappears again, but Zia’s touch on his cheek brings his gaze back up. _It’s okay_ , she says. _Give him time_.

The Kid leans into her touch, marveling at how pretty she looks in the fading sunlight. Zia’s the only one Zulf ever talks to now. He’s seen them from time to time, foreheads pressed together, talking in whispers, and hopes that one day Zulf would let him in. Then Rucks’ rumbling voice cuts through the air, hollering for dinner, and the moment is shattered. Zia pulls back, shaking her head fondly, and shoos him away when he offers to help with the food. She makes a face when he kisses her cheek again and tells him to bathe. He chuckles softly and turns, spies Zulf watching them from the Forge window, but pretends not to see.

He will give Zulf all the time he needs.

-

Later that night, after their bellies are full with stew, the Kid sees Zulf sitting on one of the larger rocks near the edge of the Bastion, the little squirt a ball of black and blue on his lap. He hesitates, thinking of the gnarled horns wrapped in cloth, stashed at the bottom of his sack. He makes the decision quickly, knows that if he thinks on it for too long, his fears will get the best of him. Silently, he makes his way closer, watches the play of emotion on Zulf’s face as he stares out at the land, dark eyes wide and liquid. The Kid remembers, then, their first meeting, and that all too-familiar ache in his chest he thought had been banished returns like an old foe.

The Kid takes a breath, steels himself, and lays a warm hand on Zulf’s shoulder. Zulf stiffens immediately, and the Kid’s breath stutters for a beat, his fingers twitching, trembling, itching to jerk back. _I… brought you something_ , the Kid says in a small, shy voice. He presses the bundle into Zulf’s hands, and the look of surprise he sees when the cloth unfurls is unfeigned. Zulf’s fingers, calloused now from all his work in the Forge, brush over the dips and curves of the horns as the squirt titters away in excitement. The Kid can almost picture the gears working in his head, wonders what will become of those horns after Zulf is done with them. He is so deep in thought that he almost misses Zulf’s whispered reply.

_Thank you_ , he says, and the Kid nods, turning to leave. _Would you_ —and Zulf pauses for a moment, before— _would you stay with me for a while?_

The Kid beams, and Zulf returns it with a small smile. He moves a bit to the front, lets the Kid settle down behind him, and slowly, hesitantly, lowers his head into the curve where the Kid’s neck meets his collarbones. That’s how Zia finds them, sometime later, snuggled close to each other and staring at the stars. Her smile is bright and knowing as she tucks herself into the Kid’s side. 

Underneath them, deep in its bones, the Bastion hums its approval, and the Kid feels an echo of it deep in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, you person with great taste! :D
> 
> I tried to stick to what you wanted, but the story ran away from me a little. I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> (Zulf tinkering around in the Forge is a bit of head!canon for me.)
> 
> The little squirt following Zulf around was an idea I got from krayxlidlon's fic No Reason to Worry. I kind of fell in love with Zulf/squirt and couldn't resist putting that in.
> 
> Mostly inspired by the song The World I Know by Collective Soul.


End file.
